Unfathomable Depths
To take the life of any Innocent
– so treasured by You –
Is to rob the breath of all who live
But Your mercy is such
Ya Rahman
Ya Rahim
That if he had asked You
Truly
You would even have absolved
And welcomed
To You
That one who
Choked six million worlds
If he had asked
Truly
Life is Such
I slept smiling
And you were with me
In my thoughts
When I should have
Had none
You brought morning
Through gaps between
My curtains and
Appeared – wondrous –
In my first flickers
Of light
You watched me all day
And when I felt your
Gaze I wandered
For a few long
Seconds
And wondered how
You saw anything
When I have
Seen nothing
Worth much
At all
You touched me
Deeply with
Gentle words
That I repeated
During my solitary
Moments
When your patience
With my failings
And your doting
Reassurances
Eased the pain
Of regrets
My day
Has been yours
And as I wait
For darkness I
See you somewhere
And think of
Tomorrow
The Fifth That Day
He was the fifth
On the seventh
Of the seventh
I never liked him
But those four saw
Something I did not
They hadn’t known
Him for that long
Not from boyhood
He sure had it
The gift of the gab
My dad would say
He told stories
That gave them
Such dreams
Let’s do something!
Be someone! We
Can! We really should!
They planned a trip
To the city and
Asked him to come
He liked July
He liked the city
He liked them too
He grinned and chatted
As they descended the
Escalators
They hung by hand
Straps squeezed in
The heat with strangers
He had helped them
To pack and then to
Carry their bags
He said goodbye
To three and went
Off to find the other
He joined that one
The youngest
Elsewhere upstairs
He told him too
I’ll see you later
And he meant it
Such good friends
They had
Become
All those hours
In the kitchen
Making mess
Those quiet moments
Of mateship
Now gone
Making friends
Is never easy
For most
Yet he seemed
To have no
Problems
That fifth on
The seventh
Of the seventh
With the four
Gone he’s back
To his old tricks
He’s made
New mates
Already
Have you heard
Who? I
Haven’t
But Allah has
Somewhere
Ready for them
Ideal for that
Whispering liar
Made from a flame
And any new friends
Who might take
Him dead seriously
Muslim Warrior
With cut-and paste ahadith that you’ve clearly hurled
As grenades in previous battles (it seems you won one
And enjoyed its sweetness) you waged war from the bunker of
Soft and safe self-righteousness plonked in front of a screen
In some estate in Scotland to prove that Jihad is Qital
And must be waged against those who exploit us ― your enemies
Include our state that has let you swell and puff and
Enjoy such combat ― and your soldierly aggression was such
That I couldn’t help wondering why you have never taken
That anger and valour over to where you can risk your skin
Rather than trying to earn martyrdom with such inflamed courage
By defeating me on Facebook
Mortal Dread
An email flew from a
Graceless yesterday
Lodging deep
And he groaned
Falling forward
Staring at a portent
He pulled the arrow’s shaft
And a trickle of pain
Ran down his exposed breast
But he pressed
His palm and prayed
Oh Allah what have I done?
Have I not paid
Enough?
You have paid a full price
And justice asks
For nothing now
He read and tears fell
Upon his keyboard
And he thanked
The one who shot for
Aiming so well
A dove flew from his fingers
Returning with
Noah’s sign and
He sighed
Giving thanks
And embraced truth
We Talk
It kills me that you
Say I was born into sin
When my sister
Died at birth
It kills me that you
Say the unborn
And everliving
Died for three days
It tears me in two
When you count
Some One as
Three
I’m gutted that
You say I
Have lost
My soul
Yet I take heart
That the Almighty
Sees what beats
Within me
And I can’t begin to
Tell you of my
Wonder that He is
Beyond description
Love as I Write
How is it that I
Cannot bear the thought
Of living without my
Heart’s great love
Although I have never seen
Your smile or held your hand
Heard the softness of your words
Smelled your subtle fragrance
Or felt your fingers reassure
My hair like mum once did?
How is that you love me
And tenderly reach to hug
Me when I need it though I
Bring shame so often and
You hear my worst and see
Even those things I would
Hide if I could but I can’t and
You know that sometimes
My thoughts wander
Where they shouldn’t?
What should I tell them
When they ask why
I’m smiling to myself
And should I let them in
On the secret that I’m
Never alone and that within
The greying of shrinking time
My heart beats like a fifth-
Former with a note passed
From a dreamed sweetheart?
Why would I keep
You to myself when I know
That you wrote that note
In surahs for all who need
What they don’t know is
Beyond a father’s wisdom
A motherly embrace
A warm drink in dark winter
A cool swim in summer
And an offer of foreverness?
Noodles in Jakarta
You walked out on your husband because
Allah wanted you to be happier
You chased some illusion of romance
That He truly had in mind for you
You left the son you adopted so
That Allah would make you a real mum
You didn’t have to search that hard
Because He would bring you a job
And if He didn’t it was because He
Had a new husband with money waiting
But
Paradise ― said our Prophet
― is at the feet of mothers
And you now live alone in a single room
That smells of instant noodles
For Her in That Room
Oh Allah
Let those stumbled
Steps of foolishness
Lead to a path
Paved in better
Judgement
I did not pray for those
Things she wanted
How could I?
But I do now
Send her someone
If that’s Your will
Please
Oh Allah, if her eyes will enlarge
On her world that has shrunk
And her lips will caress Your names
Won’t you wrap her in soft compassion?
Through Time
A joy still spreads in frog-coloured greenness from a parched
Slab of a camel desert
Springs within souls rise like Zamzam’s laughter beneath the ardent
Stare of an encroaching sun in a cloudless unflawed stripe
The clearest voice once sang as a happy tenor and hummed inside a
Cave too small for echoes
Words of resonant depth joined and forever swell a chorus of
Worship sung by those who remain close when darkness comes
Prayers grin at gravity as they skip up spiralling staircases to their
Owner who has never misplaced or overlooked a single sigh
He smiles at all green croaking devotions and invites the
Ones who glimmer in His eyes to journey up if they will
Qābīl and Hābīl
Sons of the same great pawing lion
Who yawned contentedly and watched
You joy in bringing the hint of meaning
To a mother’s Mona Lisa smile
You wrestled and grew strong like
Mongols on the hard steppes
And you laughed when you fell
Upon each other in young-muscled
Slips of twisting balance
When the whisperer crouched close
And said who was strongest it was a lie
Borrowed from lofty circling vultures
And you should not have looked
At each other in that way
Will jealousy fill your mind, brother
Hamas, with pulsing thoughts of his
Quiet nature so admired? Calm your soul
And look! He has eyes just like yours
Will feelings of weakness make your
Chest tight and your knuckles white,
Dear Fatah? Strengthen your spirit, look
In the mirror and quietly call, “Akhoya”
Return to your wrestling and press
Your wet hair together in tight squeezes
Of brotherhood and grow stronger
In love
And offer that up as a single offering
With the Ummah’s prayers that it will
Reach and please the One who
Called that tawny lion Ibrahim His friend
Oh champion of the sad and hurt we beseech
You to accept their fragrantly full salver
And to strengthen their memories of youth
Whenever the slitherer slips out greenish words
History can be written on different scrolls and
That crying blow need not fall if they will make pride
A sworn foe and return to their flocks and fields
With something for their mother’s lips
Jihad al-Nafs
I confront my antagonist and
Demand with a poke what Allah wants:
My release from his clutch
He has pursued me
Plagued and poisoned me
Lifted me then cast me
Down
I have turned from him
Fled and he has followed
His hot breath on my neck drove me
Like a wrathful wind in a whipping sail
I need him gone and
My soul unbound
For calm to flatten the sea
To hold my enslaver’s familiar stare
And shake myself free
I must die to me so that I can live
And you can smile
I burn my desires upon a pyre
And pour Allah’s will over the dying cinders
Prophethood
You are a shepherd
A lamb
Sweethearted
A fisherman
Loaves and fishes
The salt of the earth
You are an ark
A dove returning
An olive branch
A rainbow
Stained glass windows
The chiming of bells
The good news
You are
Muhammadur Rasulullah
Sallallahu alayhi wasallam
Capturing Beauty
Wizened and white
He ached
As he always did
To paint the glory
Of radiant Allah
Subhanahu waTa’ala
With a palette
Of dazzling colours
His thin fingers
Held a thinner brush
And faded yellowing eyes
Delighted in the brightness
Of the harvest colours
Already toothpaste-
Squeezed onto his
Waiting mixing board
And he wondered
What should emerge
This time
From his canvas as
An offering to the one
Who gave him a steady
Hand now trembling
And a keen eye
After having captured
Creation as a master
For forty years
He thought again
As he always did
Of what beauty
Might exceed what
He’d ever seen
But he found nothing
Again in his mind’s
Eye more precious
Than the memory
Of a melting red sunset
When he once strolled
With sandy feet
In love and with
A firm hand wrapped
Around his long-dead
Wife’s
And he smiled and
Gave thanks to the one
Who had created
Far greater suns than
That one and scattered
Them as pebbles
Through the widening
Universe with a simple
Clear thought
And he returned his brush
Undipped to the jar
That had always
Welcomed it home and
Ran fingertips lovingly
Over an empty canvas
That danced with joy
When he spoke with
A quiver, "Oh Allah"
"What could I paint
With my hands
That could equal
Those words?"
And he sat
On a cane chair
With creaks
Bowed his neck and
Painted perfection
With thanks for his
Life and his wife’s
With a rainbow of
Words ― " La ilaha
Illallah Muhammadur
Rasulullah" ―
That flowed from
Scarcely open
Lips while he
Looked at his bare canvas
And saw God’s beauty
In its emptiness
It’s Monday Tomorrow
A pigeon came as grace from God at six
And walked rainwet on my windowsill. Did he
Also bring a mild rebuke? One orangey eye
Then the other warned me that last week
Must not become this week.
Jinns of smokeless fire had pulled down
Around us such a thunderfilled cloud
That summer shivered within its darkness
And we became colder. We bickered. Want
That shadow gone enough and it will be,
The ringnecked and orange promised.
They had whispered to the worst aspects within
Us which proved vulnerable to the stings of
Pridewounding rumours. Recognise their voices,
He said, which are not your own, and ignore them.
They did their jobs by convincing you both that you
Are not very good at doing yours.
From So Far Away
Who is it that speaks from time to time
Hesitantly and with such long pauses
On the phone some Sundays?
I recognise the cough
Sixty years of twenty a day have
Placed a grim sign of the future
Within a throat beneath a jaw
That sags in last year’s photo
The voice reminds me of a memory
Forty years of quick words
Without hesitation flowing from
A bright untaught mind that should
Have thought and given more
Who has stolen my father
And replaced him with a strangely
Slow old man who seems to know me?
The stillness on the phone disturbs me
A childhood of outbursts and shaking
Emotion sometimes aimed my way
Is fading fast in a mind confused by
Time and this imposter’s blandness
His words aren’t familiar
The real McCoy wouldn’t risk the
Words “I love you” – at least not on me –
As he once did on a boy ready for sleep
Beneath an orange candlewick bedspread
Such shrinkage really frightens me
A room full of evident vigour that
Sometimes whipped us as a tempest
Now feels like a shoe-box
Of trapped air
Who will give me the courage to ask
That deflated and tired voice if he
Knows that I have always forgiven him?
Oh Allah I ask for a braver heart
To push from my lips my three best words
To that truly beloved ancient stranger
Who still calls me sometimes on a Sunday